On the road
by louiseb
Summary: It's more than two years since the end of the first five year mission. Kirk's behind a desk and he's not happy. But while on a last minute holiday to Spain he bumps into an old crewmate in distress. What happened between the end of TOS and the start of ST:TMP? This is now complete - with revisions from the first chapter onwards.
1. Chapter 1

_The characters aren't mine but the story is. And I'm making not a penny from it._

_Thank you to Djinn who first opened my eyes to the possibilities of this character pairing…_

_This is now a complete story. Those of you who read earlier versions, apologies. I've tweaked a bit, especially first chapter –- the conversation in the car - so Chapel doesn't have as much information as we do…_

**On the road**

He sees the uniform before he sees her. The doctor's plain white is incongruous among the multi-coloured tourist t-shirts.

She's arguing with the man at the ticket window. He's too far away to hear what she's saying but the body language is clear. Even clearer is the closed sign on the blind the clerk pulls down to put a full stop to what's evidently a fruitless conversation.

It's only when she turns that he realises with a shock he's looking at Christine Chapel, and she's crying.

"Chapel?" He hurries across the crowded booking hall. "What on earth?"

She looks up. Seems even more shocked to see her former commanding officer than he is to see her. She looks...different. Taller, more assured somehow, despite the tears.

"Captain! Captain Kirk..."

"It's Admiral now, Chapel." Now why did he say that? Sounds like he's pulling rank and bragging about a promotion. If she only knew... He tries again, keeping it friendly. "Chris, Wow - it's great to see you. How long's it been? Must be getting on for two years? And you're a doctor, congratulations."

He's burbling but she doesn't seem to hear him. Surreptitiously wiping her eyes, she's looking round for her backpack, for her med kit, for an escape route. Like him, she's talking too fast.

"Sir, it's great to see you too." She's not seeing him, though. She's not making eye contact. "How have you been? I heard you were back on earth. Didn't expect to see you in Bilbao though... What are the chances?"

"Bet Spock could work that out for us. He'd give us the exact odds."

He's doing it again. Lori was right. He's always harking back to the good old days. Automatically trying to remind Chapel of the years she spent as part of his crew. It's absurd how pleased he is to see his ship's nurse, or rather former ship's nurse. Particularly now. But she doesn't seem pleased to see him. She's barely looking at him.

"I'd love to catch up, sir, but I'm afraid I have to dash. We must get together for a drink when we're back at the Academy. Comm me."

She's gathered her stuff, picked up her padd and is making for the exit. Suddenly he's really keen she shouldn't go. She's upset. The Christine Chapel he knows doesn't get upset easily. And he finds after events this morning he wants company. He grabs his own bag and strides along beside her.

"Where are you off to? You know the transporter stations are all closed? I've just come from there."

She nods curtly.

"I've got to get to the shuttle bus station. Trains are full. Apparently."

They're outside, blinking in the blinding Spanish sunlight. The midday heat and dust remind him of Vulcan. A lot seems to remind him of Vulcan recently.

"Anyway, Captain...Sorry, Admiral... I won't keep you."

She's squinting down the street, looking down at the directions on her padd and trying to orient herself. The woman who's handled a hundred sickbay crises seems flustered.

"Chris. Are you ok? You look like you could use some help."

She's still refusing to meet his eyes.

"I'm fine. I just have to..." She spots an air taxi as it hovers round the corner, hails it but the car ignores her.

He pulls out his own communicator and points it at the cab. Obediently the taxi glides up to them. He grins at her.

"Being an Admiral has some advantages. Priority hailing frequencies for one..."

She doesn't smile back. "Thank you, sir. Now I'm sure you have things to do, places to go. Do you mind if I just grab this and go?" She's not really asking. Already she's piling her stuff into the cabin and about to press the close button.

"Actually I do mind." She looks startled. "And my plans just changed. I find myself at a loose end." He leans forward, touches her arm. "Chris, let me help. It feels like you could use a friend."

For the first time she looks him full in the face and he can see what she's thinking. He was never her friend. He was her captain, her boss's boss, her patient. But never a friend.

He thinks he had her respect, even on occasion her admiration. She certainly had his - he knew McCoy thought she was the finest nurse he'd ever worked with. Thought that, with several degrees already under her belt, including biochem, she was wasted on a nursing post. He's glad to see she's achieved what she'd planned when she left the _Enterprise. _He'd heard on the grapevine she'd got her MD in record time_._

But back then, back on the ship, _his_ ship, he'd kept his distance, the way he had with all his female crew. Now he's wondering why he'd been quite so uptight.

She looks furious, seems to be on red alert status. She's staring down at his hand on her arm as if she might hit him. But there's a hint of desperation too - an urgency he can't quite fathom.

He's worried - this is more than a missed train. "Chris, what is it? What's wrong?"

Quite suddenly, the fight goes out of her. She sits back, waves her hands vaguely at the seat and makes room.

"OK...what the hell...Get in then." Her voice is weary. He shoves his bag onto the seat and sits opposite, giving her space. She's grabbed the console and punched in their destination. As the taxi takes off she stares out of the window. They're passing the Guggenheim museum on the river front but he can tell her mind isn't on the scenery. There are dark circles under her eyes. He wonders how long it is since she slept.

"So, Doctor Chapel, are you on your way to a patient?"

She looks at him in surprise. "How did you...?"

He gestures at her doctor's whites. "You don't look dressed for a vacation."

She looks down. "Oh... no. I just didn't have time to change. I was on shift

when the call came in..."

"Call? Last I heard you were based at the Academy teaching hospital. Are we sending emergency medical support to Spain now? That seems a bit..." He tails off. She's looking out of the window again. She sighs, her eyes dark.

"No, it's my mom. She lives here now... Well, near here - in the Picos. She's in hospital. A cerebral infarction ..." She pauses, sees his incomprehension. "A stroke. Shouldn't have been a problem but she was alone. The neighbour didn't find her until..."

Her voice breaks slightly and he watches as she brings herself back under rigid control. Keeping to the facts. It reminds him of the umpteen cool medical reports she's delivered when surrounded by chaos.

"Anyway, she's in Oviedo now - they've managed to stabilise her. The team there told me to come. They said to get here as soon as possible. But the transporter..."

"Chris, I'm so sorry." He resists the urge to lean forward, offer comfort. She's sending out 'don't touch me' signals they could probably pick up on Starbase 9.

No wonder she's so desperate to get moving. He understands now. National and local transporter stations are out all over southern Europe since last night. Only the main international routes are operating - and then just a skeleton service.

He knows Federation engineers are pulling out all the stops to sort out what seems to be some sort of software glitch. He'd called Starfleet to get briefed first thing even though he was supposed to be on vacation. That's what started the row with Lori.

_"Five days, Jim. That's all I wanted. Time alone, just the two of us, without Starfleet playing gooseberry. And you can't last five minutes. I could understand it if you had a ship to think about. But dammit, you're behind a desk now. We don't need you to leap in and solve every crisis that comes along_._" _

That had stung. She seemed to know exactly how to get under his skin, push his buttons. But that didn't excuse his reaction. His _over-_reaction now he can look back with a cooler head.

No wonder Lori's on her way back to San Francisco. He wonders what he'll find when he can face going back to their apartment. He has a sneaking suspicion she'd already started moving her stuff out. Neither of them had admitted it out loud, but this holiday in Spain was make or break.

He sighs and pulls himself back to the present. They're at the shuttle bus station. As the door hisses open hot air pours in, together with the noise of several hundred sweaty and frustrated would-be passengers. The bus station is mobbed, and judging by the empty docking bays it's likely to stay that way."

Thinking fast, he grabs Chris before she can leave the cabin.

"Hang on. I'm not sure this is a good idea."

The air taxi's already surrounded by a small crowd who all seem keen to replace them. One Andorian has almost got his antennae through the door before he hits the close button.

"Sir, what the... I need to get out."

His voice is firm. "No, Chris, you really don't. I've just had a better idea." He grabs the console and punches in an address.

The taxi takes a soaring U-turn and starts heading back towards the city centre.

She's staring at him and her voice is cold.

"May I remind you, Admiral, this is a taxi not a starship, you're not in charge here and I am no longer one of your crew?"

Ouch. He doesn't remember ever seeing this side of Christine Chapel. Two years in medical school appear to have given her more than an MD. They've given her an attitude. He rather likes it.

"Chris... I..."

She's fuming. "You never stop, do you. Always have to play the alpha male, the big I am. Well, I haven't got time to stand back and admire James T. Kirk in action. I've got to get to..."

"Oviedo. Your mother. I know. I really am trying to help." To his dismay he sees her eyes fill with tears again. She turns away, angry he's seen. He continues as if he hadn't noticed. "Look... The buses, the trains - they're all mobbed. With the transporters down our chances of getting anywhere by public transport are slim to nil. Even with Admiral hailing privileges." He's trying to make her smile. It's not working. Her eyes are stony.

"So - Admiral," she makes it sound like an insult. "This taxi can go no further than the city limits. What do you suggest?"

He lifts his eyebrows and grins...

-oOo-

"You have got to be kidding me..."

"It's a classic, Chris."

"It's a three hundred year old antique. I can't believe you really thought..." She's walking round the gleaming blue sports car as if it's a new form of alien bacteria. "A... C...Cobra," she reads. "Yeah, sounds about right - certainly looks deadly. And if you think I'm going anywhere in that pile of..." Her communicator whistles and with one last withering glare she walks away to answer it.

He turns to the elderly man wiping his hands on an oily rag beside him.

"Look, Felipe, I know I only originally booked her for the day but things have changed. We may need her for longer. Two maybe three days. And we'll need a lot more gas. Can you compress it for us?"

The mechanic hesitates then smiles. "No problem, Jim. She's all yours. She could do with a good run out. And you're one of the few people I trust to bring her back safely."

Kirk gives him what he hopes is a trustworthy grin. He'd first met Felipe not long after the mission to Sigma Iotia II - the planet hopelessly compromised by their earlier encounter with the_ Horizon _and its book about Chicago gangs. Getting behind the wheel there had whetted his appetite for twentieth century gas powered automobiles, and made him determined to learn more. He hated doing anything as badly as he'd driven that Cadillac.

He'd turned to Scotty for advice. When they were back for refits, the engineer had introduced him to an old friend from the Academy who was as obsessed with ancient combustion engines as Scotty was with warp drives. Despite the age gap, Felipe and Kirk bonded immediately over pints of Alhambra Negra and a mutual passion for speed. One afternoon at the track in Felipe's treasured Ford Thunderbird was all it took to turn a starship captain into a self confessed 'petrol head'.

Back then Felipe was a guest lecturer in mechanics at the Academy, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd gone back to his native land and built up a restore and hire business. And his collection had grown since the last time Kirk had dropped by. He'd already spotted an MG midget from the mid 20th century and what looked like a Porsche from around 2015.

Now Felipe nods towards Christine who's talking urgently into her communicator. "Your wife - she's not so keen on this idea, I think..."

Kirk looks over at Chris, trying to gauge how the conversation is going. Looks like she finally got through to the hospital. "She's not my wife."

Felipe looks at him, eyebrow raised. Kirk laughs uncomfortably. "No, old friend. It's not like that. Lori had to go back to San Francisco." That's one way of putting it. Not exactly accurate, but he's not going to air his romantic troubles on a garage forecourt. "This isn't a treat day anymore, more an errand of mercy. We need to get to Oviedo and the transporters are down."

A cloud passes over his friend's face. "Si. I know. And now the freeway network's got problems too."

He gestures towards the telecast running just inside the office door. Pictures of stationary shuttles, flitters and auto cars fill the screen. "Believe it or not there's a traffic jam along the coast - something to do with the traffic management software. Auto cars can't go anywhere while the network's scrambled." Felipe's expression lightens. "Hey, but that won't affect my girl. You can take the back roads over the Picos. They're pretty overgrown in places, but it's a hell of a ride. Let me get you a map..."

Felipe disappears into the office. By the sound of it he's demolishing his desk drawers.

"A map?" Kirk's nonplussed. Even more so when Felipe reappears with a torn and yellowing book.

"Some of the roads you'll need have been deleted from the mapping database - but they're still there. Locals use them."

The two of them are still poring over the road atlas when Chapel picks her way through some rusty, unidentifiable engine parts and stands looking over his shoulder.

"Here be dragons..." She's pointing at the map. Kirk looks at her, startled. Her voice sounds different, lighter.

"What did the hospital say?"

"It's good - good news. She's awake. And talking - I talked to her." It's only now that some of the tension has left her face that he realises just how worried she was. She's almost smiling. "She still sounds like mom. Bit groggy but she knows where she is and she's making sense. I talked to her doctor too. Sounds like she's in good hands."

"Chris, that's great."

She looks at him. Feels like it's the first time she's really looked him in the eye since the train station. And he thinks he detects a hint of the old sparkle.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know I was out of line back there. I was just so..."

He cuts her off. "Forget it, Chris. I have. And we're a long way from Starfleet. Call me Jim."

She nods, thoughtful. "Okay...Jim." She looks uncomfortable. They've never been on first name terms - well, not mutual first name terms. "Now listen... I want to thank you for trying to help. But you've done enough. You're supposed to be on leave and this isn't your problem. I can take it from here. I'm sure the transporters will be back online soon. And I can pull a few Starfleet strings..."

"Chris - you can stop right there." His voice is firm. He sees her react - tones it down from bridge to rec room. "Listen. The roads are a mess. God knows when they're going to fix the network - and your mother's waiting for you. Meanwhile, I can think of nothing I'd rather be doing than giving you a ride." She raises an eyebrow. He tries a grin, knows it usually works when he's trying to get his own way. "No, really, Chris. Do you have any idea how much I've been looking forward to getting back in the driving seat?"

Right on cue, across the forecourt, the Cobra leaps to life with a throaty roar. Felipe climbs out and shouts across the noise. "You're all packed - trunk's full of fuel so I've jammed your bags behind the seats. And the map's in the glove box."

Kirk holds out both hands in invitation. "Come on, Chris. I dare you. It'll be fun."

-oOo-

He was right. She had to admit it _was_ fun... at first. Once they were out of Bilbao traffic, there was something oddly satisfying about sailing passed the backed up shuttles and flitters in a relic from the 20th century. The wind in her hair, the sun in her face, the flies in her mouth. Oh yes, the flies. Low flying insects - that was the first downside.

Second downside - the realisation that this is going to be a long journey. The fast coastal freeway is out of bounds to antique cars, and anyway it's backed up all the way to Santander. They head inland on roads that haven't been resurfaced for what looks like decades, stopping every few miles to consult Felipe's map. She hasn't needed map reading skills since she was a teenager at adventure camp.

And the further they drive from the coast the hotter it gets. Third downside to open topped sports cars - no air conditioning. And the wind in her hair bit. She doubts she'll ever get the tangles out.

But it's the journey time that worries her most. The relief at talking to her mom is starting to fade. That was nearly three hours ago and a lot can happen in three hours. She'd tried a couple of times to get through to the hospital again but comms were overloaded - whether because of the volume of stranded travellers, or the same software problems that had knocked out the transporters, she's not sure. A journey that would have taken seconds by transporter, less than hour by train, was stretching into a day long trek.

She looks at Kirk gripping the steering wheel. She can't quite get used to seeing him out of uniform. He's completely focused on the road ahead. Has to be to avoid the pot holes. And he's a skilful driver, she'll give him that. No surprise there. James T. Kirk always has to be the best at everything he does - including charming former crew mates into joining him on madcap expeditions. Why the hell had she agreed to this? If she'd stuck it out in the city and waited for the geeks to sort things out she'd probably be there by now.

He looks across at her, grinning. At least one of them is enjoying themselves. But the grin fades when he sees her set expression.

"You okay? We're more than half way there by my reckoning."

She nods. Would love to let rip with some sarcastic comment but bites her tongue. He is trying to help after all. She still can't figure out what he's doing in Spain and all on his ownsome. Everyone knew he was married to his ship, but it's been two years since he captained the _Enterprise_. Surely he can't still be a bachelor boy. And surely he's got better things to do than play the Good Samaritan.

"Sorry to muscle in on your Jack Kerouac moment, sir. I know you weren't expecting to play taxi."

The grin is back. He gets the reference. "I've told you - call me Jim. And I wasn't planning a road trip. Just booked her for a few hours as a bit of a treat. We were going to have a run along the coast to Comillas. This is better. Just look at that!". He gestures ahead.

She hasn't been paying much attention to the scenery, but now she realises her ears are popping and the road's getting steeper by the mile. Ahead and above are the Picos de Europa, still snow capped even in June. Below, a green valley studded with sheep and the occasional stone building. If you ignored the flash of solar panels it could be a scene from 400 years ago.

"Wow. Jim, it's stunning." She turns back to look at him. His mood is infectious. She tries to push away her worries and live in the moment.

Jim. It feels odd to call him that. She can't quite accept the familiarity, the lack of distance. He'd always been somehow removed from her on the _Enterprise. _Even when he was at his most vulnerable, flat out with some awful injury on the biobed, even then she'd felt it - the gulf between crew and command.

And on board ship that felt right. It _was_ right. It was essential even. In five years she'd watched him make some tough decisions - the toughest. He'd watched men and women die because of those choices. Risked his own life countless times. There was a reason James T. Kirk was a Starfleet legend. And to do that, to command his crew, he needed to keep his distance.

But this is a different James Kirk. An earthbound Kirk. And he wants her to call him Jim - he's closing the gap. She's not sure how she feels about that.

She'd never lusted after their captain the way so many of the crew had, the way Janice had. She recognised the charisma, of course she did. He'd been kind to her over the whole Roger debacle. And there was no-one she'd rather have in charge. She was proud to serve under the best starship captain in the fleet.

But the same confidence that equipped him for that role made him rather cocky in her eyes, rather too full of himself. He'd created his own new world on board ship, a crew that would follow him to hell and back, and friends who'd back him every step of the way. Now that's gone, and suddenly she's wondering how he's coped the last two years.

He seems happy enough behind the wheel of his shiny boy's toy, but she can't shake the feeling it's all a bit forced. There's a restlessness... Hang on a minute... He'd said "_we_", as in "_we were going to have a run along the coast."_

"Jim, have you left someone behind in Bilbao? You said your plans had changed but I didn't ask..."

The grin has gone. His face darkens. "No, no-one's waiting for me in Bilbao. I doubt she's waiting for me in San Francisco either."

The car speeds up. He's pushing it expertly round the bends, but it's a good thing they're unlikely to meet anyone coming the other way. They haven't passed anyone for a good hour.

She should probably leave it. It's obviously a sore subject. But she can't resist.

"So is she Starfleet? Anyone I know?" She thinks that's unlikely. Anyone she knows who'd bedded Jim Kirk would have been unable to keep it to themselves.

"I don't think so. Lori Ciani. Admiral Ciani." He seems about to say more. Then apparently changes his mind.

She does know her. Well, know _of _her_. _Admiral Lori Ciani has quite a reputation - as an ambitious career woman who climbs the ranks by standing on the unacknowledged achievements of her subordinates. Time to change the subject.

"So have you heard much from Spock since you've been back? I heard he went back to Vulcan."

The car speeds up again. She can't help clutching the armrest on the door. Looks like she's gone from a sore topic to a truly painful one. He's positively glowering.

"Nope." He says nothing more while he negotiates a particularly tricky series of hairpin bends. Then they're over the summit and heading down towards the plain. He looks across at her. There's hurt in his eyes. "Spock just left, Chris. Barely a word." His voice is bitter. "I thought we were friends..."

She's shocked. Spock and Kirk. 'Friends' barely covered the relationship she and everyone else had witnessed on the _Enterprise. _ The two men shared a connection so intense many on board believed they were a couple.

She'd never believed the wilder rumours. She'd shared consciousness with Spock - knew his feelings for the captain had nothing to do with romance. But love - fierce, protective, profound - that was there, from both of them. She knew she couldn't compete. That was one of the reasons she'd left the _Enterprise_ before the end of the five year mission.

"What about you, Chris? You and Spock." It's as if he's read her mind. "Did you keep in touch? I know you were very... fond of him."

She appreciates him being so diplomatic about her crush. Doctor McCoy had no such qualms.

"No. I haven't heard from him since I started my MD. He wrote a glowing recommendation for me though." She'd been grateful for that. It was some comfort to learn she had Spock's professional respect, even though he'd gently rejected her romantically. Sometimes not so gently.

She sighs. She's over Spock. Med school, surrounded by a lot of 'live for the moment' horny as hell young cadets had turned out to be a perfect place to put unrequited crushes to rest. Life moves on and so had she.

"I'm sorry, Jim. You two went through a lot together. He changed over those years on the _Enterprise _- got far more human, I thought. But I suppose we forget - the Vulcan side always wins in the end."

He smiles tightly. Boy, she's really hit a nerve. His hands are so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles are white. And he's putting his foot down - warp factor six. The engine's now so loud it precludes any further attempt at conversation so she stares out at the passing – blurring - scenery. At this rate they should reach the hospital sooner than she'd thought. Then he's shouting something.

"What? Jim, I can't hear you."

"I said...can...you...smell something?"

She can. Something's burning. Suddenly it's obvious what it is. Black smoke pouring from the hood. It's so thick the road disappears from view.

He swears. Brakes, but they're going too fast. A sudden lurch. The smooth surface has gone. They're off the road.

"Hold on, Chris!"

The car is bucking underneath her, lifting, then falling. The noise is tremendous - the engine straining, the rattle and screech of metal on rock. A loud bang - then nothing.

-oOo-

Something is nibbling his ear. He turns his head to get away but that's worse. Something is stabbing his other ear. And it's hot. Blindingly hot. And smelly. Something smelly is nibbling his ear. And sticking a knife in his other ear. He's on Vulcan and this is part of a courtship ritual. T'Pring has chosen him as her champion and she's holding a dagger to his head and licking his ear. And she has a terrible case of halitosis. With a shout he sits up, blinking back his vision.

He's not on Vulcan. He's in a field. With a pointy rock to one side and a sheep on the other. A very friendly sheep, hence the ear licking. And the bad breath. He flails his arms and the sheep, already affronted by the shouting, runs off in a huff. Staggering he manages to get to his feet, coughing in the fumes. Who lit a fire? It's too hot for a fire.

But it's coming back to him. Spain, the car, the smoke, he was going too fast...Chris.

His stomach lurches. Where's Chris? Oh god, he's killed her. Another death to chalk up on the James T. Kirk memorial board.

He heads into the billowing smoke. The fuel - all that compressed gasoline in the trunk - it'll go up like an overloaded warp drive. He has to get her out.

But the Cobra is empty. Smoke still pouring from the hood, both doors open...and no sign of his passenger. Turning away, he starts scanning the ground, heads back towards the sheep. Then he sees it - a glimpse of red and white on the ground. It's Chris - her doctor's coat soaked in scarlet. Blood.

For a split second he's frozen. Then the training, the experience kicks in. Stumbling, he's down by her side, checking for vitals, barely pausing - there's so much blood. Lifts her head, a clear airway and then his lips are on hers. Her mouth is warm, soft - he has to get her to breathe. He lifts his head to start chest compressions and then...

Ouch! A stinging slap almost sends him sprawling.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He touches his cheek. That was a hell of a slap. "Chris?"

She's sitting up on her elbows and looking remarkably uninjured considering the state of her uniform. "Not content with crashing the damned car, now you're trying to smother me. Or was that supposed to be your way of saying you're sorry?"

The wave of relief is huge - so intense after the controlled panic that he laughs. It comes across as slightly hysterical. But she's not amused. In fact she's furious.

"First, you drag me halfway across Spain in an antiquated rust bucket, then you drive us off the road, then I have to rescue your sorry ass, and then..." she takes a deep breath, "then you assault me!"

At that he manages to stop laughing. "Hang on a minute. _You_... rescue _me_?" He's still worried by the blood - maybe she's in shock, hallucinating. "Chris, we need to move away. The fuel."

"Why do you think I dragged you over there? I went back for the med kit - just got a bit dizzy that's all." She's getting to her feet, brushing herself down, looking at her red, sticky fingers in puzzlement. "What's this?"

He grabs her arm, drapes it over his shoulder, and drags her further upwind, away from the smoke. "You're bleeding, Chris. Better let me take a look."

She pulls away, irritated - then perplexed. She's patting herself down. "But I'm not...I don't..." She glances back at the car, and now she's the one suppressing hysterical laughter. "Jim, I think we hit something."

He follows her gaze. Sees the woollen bundle lying off to one side, the crimson spray across the windshield. Add one sheep to the Jim Kirk death tally. It can't have known what hit it. Who would have thought one small sheep could produce so much blood?

And now they're both laughing. Laughing so hard they have to sit down. Which is just as well, because, when the blast hits, it's enough to knock them both off their feet.

He senses the explosion a split second before the wave hits. Instinctively turns so his back is between the car and the woman beside him. He takes the full force across his shoulders.

For the second time in as many minutes he finds himself a lot closer to his former ship's nurse than he'd intended...and judging by her expression a lot closer than he's welcome.

But for a minute he doesn't feel like moving. It's odd how...right... she feels pressed close against him. She gasps...and he can feel her breath across his cheek. Her lips are just inches away. For just a moment the thought crosses his mind he'd like another chance to see what they feel like under his.

"Jim - are you okay?" Her question is more annoyed than solicitous. He realises where he is and what just happened. He must be more dazed than he realised.

"Sorry. Yes, of course. You okay?"

She grunts assent. "You're squashing me."

"Sorry. Here..." He holds out a hand to pull her up as he scrambles onto his feet to take stock.

God, Felipe is going to kill him. The A C Cobra is barely recognisable - a hunk of twisted blackened metal still cracking and groaning in the flames. It's irreplaceable. The craftsmen and automotive engineers who designed and built it have been dead for centuries.

For a moment Kirk feels real sorrow. She wasn't the _Enterprise, _but for a while there, back on the open road, that car had helped him forget what he'd lost.

She's squeezing his hand. He looks down startled - had forgotten he was still holding her, fingers interlinked. And this time her voice is soft. "Jim, I'm sorry. I know what I said. But it wasn't your fault."

"I was going too fast." It's a blunt statement of fact. She might want to let him off the hook. He can't let himself escape that easily.

"You were," she agrees. "But... Well, I know I'm no expert on the combustion engine, but I'm sure bursting into flames when you reach a certain velocity is not any part of the designs I studied back at school."

He says nothing. This isn't the first Cobra to catch fire at speed. He does remember reading in one of Felipe's crumpled auto magazines about the problems of putting such an oversized engine in a small car. But that's what made her such fun to drive. That's why he'd booked her in the first place. And now he's got a tough call to make.

Ignoring the odd stinging sensation across his back, he walks away and pulls out his communicator. But the signal's on red. He's still fiddling with the dial when she comes up behind him.

"It's no good. I've been trying to get through to the hospital again. Comms are still..." A sharp intake of breath. "Jim, your shoulders...!"

"What?"

"Here, let me take a look at that." Tutting, she touches his back, pulls at the material, and for the first time it really hurts. Apparently a t-shirt isn't much protection from an exploding car. He can't help but react.

"Hold still." She's gone all medical professional on him. "Wait here. I managed to get my med kit out of the car. It's back there...where you attacked me." At least she doesn't sound cross any more. She's sounds amused - and more than a little concerned.

"Chris, it's fine. Leave it." But she's back in seconds. Starts spraying something cooling, gently easing the torn fabric from what turns out to be rather sensitive skin.

"We should get this seen to. I can't use the regenerator without removing every thread of this material. When we get to the hospital you need to get yourself down to the burns unit and..." She stops.

The same thought has occurred to both of them. They're in a field. With a burnt out car. In the middle of one of Spain's more remote areas. And comms are down. Suddenly the hospital might as well be several light years away.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hola!"

The shout comes from behind, the figure silhouetted against the now lowering sun. She squints over her shoulder.

" Que hacen aqui?"

It's a very tall man. With four legs. No. It's a man on a horse, a few hundred yards back down the road.

Her brains are fuddled by the heat. The heat and the walking. They seem to have been walking for hours, although it's probably only been about thirty minutes.

" Quien son?"

He's wearing a hat. He's leading another horse. And apparently he's misplaced his universal translator. They'd left their own padds in the burning car along with their carbonised luggage. So mutual incomprehension then.

It's like a scene from one of those 20th century films - what were they called? She remembers Dr. McCoy went through a phase where he insisted on showing a season of them in the rec room. She's thinking bolognese...Western pasta films? No, spaghetti westerns. That was it.

"Hola!" Kirk is waving back at the rider with his best diplomatic 'we come in peace' grin.

"Do you speak Spanish?" she hisses.

"Oh, yes. Como esta? Dos cervezas, por favor. La cuenta."

She's impressed. Of course, he speaks Spanish. She'd skipped her language classes in favour of extra science credits. There didn't seem a lot of point in learning languages when the translator did the job so well.

"What did you just say?"

"I ordered two beers and asked for the bill." He smiles apologetically and shrugs. "I never said I was fluent..."

The rider has caught them up. He's got that anachronistic weatherbeaten Spanish farmer look going. He stares down at them impassively.

They must be quite a sight. In the absence of a sunhat she's draped the bloodstained coat over her head. Kirk's still wearing his tattered t-shirt - she'd stopped him taking it off, fearing he'd cause more damage to the nasty burn across his shoulders.

"Estas perdido?"

Kirk spreads his hands in a universal gesture of apology. "No hablo Español - sorry. Can you help us? We want to get to Oviedo."

The rider says nothing. Just gazes down at them, as if it's an everyday occurrence to meet two bloodstained pedestrians on his way home.

Kirk tries again. "Ov-iedo... Er... Donde Oviedo?"

Abruptly the man gives a short laugh. "Ah, Oviedo." He gestures down the road. "Lejos. Largo camino."

Kirk nods sagely with a fixed smile. Mutters out of the corner of his mouth, "He says it's a long way. Really helpful guy, isn't he?"

She decides it's time to step in. Try a bit of feminine charm. Pulling the coat off her head she steps forward to stroke the horse's nose.

"He's a beauty, isn't he?"

The rider leans forward to see her better. For the first time he seems inclined to smile, revealing a mouth of yellowing teeth. She smiles back. "So, I'm Chris." She points at her chest. Apparently he's happy to look where she's pointing. "Chris. And this is Jim. Jim." He's not interested - he'd rather keep looking at her chest. Lech. She moves so the horse's nose blocks his view. Points firmly in his direction. "And you. What's your name?"

He reluctantly tears his gaze away. " Me llamo Salvador."

"Okay, Salvador. Listen. There's been an accident. Car, back there, big boom! " Her seventh grade drama teacher would be proud of her miming skills. "Any chance you can help us out? We'd be very grateful."

He leans back. Seems to be thinking. "Si. Entiendo. Big boom! Mucho humo. I see eet." So he's found a smattering of English then. He comes to a decision. "You... Come with me. We go... mi casa." He gestures to the horse tied alongside.

Suddenly she realises what she's got herself into. The horse has reins and a blanket but no saddle. For the second time today she's being offered transport from a bygone age. Fool me once...She takes a step back. He holds the rope out to her, shaking it impatiently.

Kirk steps between them. With a firm "Gracias, Sigñor," he takes the rope and the initiative - again. But this time she's grateful.

Salvador looks as though that wasn't exactly what he'd planned but lets him untie the horse. Kirk seems to know what he's doing. Clicking his tongue, he lifts the reins over the horse's head and brings him over. "Right, let me give you a leg up."

She hesitates. "Jim, I don't know how to ride."

He grins. Back in his element. "Don't worry. I do. Iowa farm boy, remember? You hop on. I'll jump up behind you and do all the work."

Hopping on proves more difficult and far less graceful than it sounds. But fortunately the horse seems a stoic model. In the end they're both on board and heading off behind their taciturn guide. After a few minutes he leads them away from the road and onto a path through a small wood.

She's beginning to realise just how tired she is. Her head is swimming. It seems a lifetime since she left San Francisco.

The call from Spain had come in during what turned out to be a frantic last shift at the hospital. And she'd already been up half the night packing for her new assignment. She wonders why she hasn't mentioned her next job to the man behind her. It would have been an obvious topic of conversation. But for some reason she's not sure how he'll react to her news. Maybe he won't care. Why _should_ he care? He's never shown much interest in her career since she left his command. Never tried to contact her even when they were both back in San Francisco.

Soon they're out of the trees and picking their way along the side of a steep hillside. It's rocky. Several times the horse almost stumbles and, with no saddle, there's nothing to hold on to. She clutches at the mane, then grabs Kirk's knees. He chuckles, his voice warm.

"Grip with your legs, Chris. He knows his way. We won't lose you."

As he leans forward to talk in her ear she's acutely aware of his arms around her on both sides, his chest pressing against her back, the motion of the horse. She seems to have slipped into a Janice Rand fantasy. Although if it's Jan's fantasy why is she finding her own heartbeat racing? Why is she pressing back against him a little more than is necessary, relishing the strength she can sense in his arms. He makes her feel...safe. And something more.

Good lord, she's blushing. She hopes he hasn't noticed. It's been a stressful day, she reminds herself. Any port in a storm and all that.

"Are you okay?" She can feel his cheek against her ear. He sounds concerned.

"I'll be better when we get where we're going." Her voice is gruff, abrupt. She's over-compensating. "Just how far from civilisation are we, anyway? I really need to get some sort of message through to the hospital. They were expecting me hours ago."

He looks around, getting his bearings. "I don't think we're that far off the beaten track actually. If I remember from the map, the Picos aren't huge and there are plenty of villages, even a small town or two. If we can get access to any decent comms equipment we may be able to get a signal through, bypass the network."

And, as if on cue, they turn a final corner. Salvador turns in the saddle and gestures expansively. "Mi casa."

The small farmstead is tucked between two ridges and a stream. There's a paddock, several outbuildings and a two storey house which isn't going to win any prizes for architecture but looks sturdy enough. And, most welcome of all, at the corner of one of the barns, there's a satellite dish.

-oOo-

Violence isn't the answer, she has to remind herself. She's spent the last ten minutes trying to raise a signal from the battered viewing screen and is close to thumping it into submission.

She should have realised what she was up against when she walked in. It would appear Salvador's not the house-proud type. The screen is at least a couple of decades old and it's perched on a wooden crate that once held agricultural equipment. The room is musty, unaired. It's full of furniture, most of it broken, and the sofa is covered in empty feed sacks. It's past sunset but it's still stiflingly hot and there's no sign of air conditioning.

Kirk's taken both their communicators and gone out to the satellite dish to investigate the signal strength. He's been gone a while.

Meanwhile Salvador's disappeared too. He's barely said a word since showing them into the cluttered lounge but the clatter from the kitchen is hopeful. It's been a long time since breakfast.

She has another go, this time wiggling the tangle of wires that snake across the floor. Suddenly there's a flicker and she gets an eyeful of static. Then a grainy pixelated image. The reporter sounds as if she's reporting from beyond the grave. "...will be resolved. Federation engineers have now ruled out a computer virus. They've told us the interference is similar to what we'd expect during a solar storm but there's no evidence of unusual sunspot activity. They're now working on the theory the disruption is coming from..." The voice fades. Static hiss.

In frustration she thumps her hand on the top of the screen and another voice fades in, this time over scenes of stationary traffic.

"With large sections of the transporter network down, travellers have taken to ground vehicles only to find traffic management systems have failed. Tens of thousands are stranded and the chaos is spreading beyond southern Europe. Intermittent problems are being reported across North America, Australasia and Africa. Communication networks are feeling the strain. Advice from Starfleet is..." Once again both sound and vision fade to black.

This time no amount of wiggling and kicking elicits a response. She's still trying when Salvador backs into the room carrying a tray with a bottle, two grubby glasses and a plate of bread, cheese and sausage. The bottle has no label. She suspects it's some sort of home brewed concoction.

"You are thirsty I think." He shunts a pile of papers onto the floor, puts the tray down on the resulting table top and pours two brimming glasses of reddish liquid. He hands her one with what he probably thinks is his most charming smile. "You - drink. Salud!" She smiles back weakly and raises her glass.

"Gracias." The wine is rough but surprisingly drinkable. Salvador takes a seat on the feed sacks and puts down his glass with a speculative glint in his eye. "You are very beautiful, Señora." He pats the sofa next to him invitingly. She sighs. Usually she'd have no problem with this scenario. Two years of medical student parties have given her plenty of opportunities to practice her expertise in face-saving put downs. But tonight she's too tired, too worried to deal with an amorous Spaniard. And where the hell is Kirk?

-oOo-

Why can you never find a Vulcan when you need one? Kirk's managed to prise open the communicators to expose the circuits. In theory it should be possible to jury-rig them together and use the axial cable from the satellite dish to get a direct signal. In theory. But he's using a tool kit he found hanging on the wall of the barn, designed for repairing fences and buildings rather than delicate electronic work. That and some baling wire.

Spock used to make this sort of thing look so easy. He remembers the room in Edith Keeler's boarding house - the valves and vacuum tubes, "stone knives and bearskins". If Spock could do it back in 1933 surely he should be able to cobble something together more than 300 years later.

It's not a memory he revisits if he can help it. One of the darkest. The pain is a physical thing, tight in his throat, sharp in his gut. The scar tissue is there - numbing, protective -but the wound will never fully heal. Losing Edith changed him. He'd promised himself he'd never be that vulnerable again, couldn't afford to go through that much emotional agony while in command.

But he's not in command now, at least not in command of a starship. He has no crew depending on him to keep them safe, 24 hours a day. He wonders why he's still putting up walls - walls Lori got tired of attempting to climb. Perhaps she was right to walk away. He's starting to suspect being alone is his default condition. There's a whisper in his ear. He tries not to listen - it sounds too much like self-pity. _Everyone leaves, sooner or later, everyone leaves him._

Sighing, he tries again with the communicator dial. He's cannibalised thin strands of copper cable from the sat dish's secondary power source. With both receivers connected to each other and boosted via satellite he's hoping to tap direct into the Starfleet emergency channel. And for a brief moment the communicator light does turn green. But as he raises his hand to speak it fades.

That's when he hears the shouting. Something unintelligible in Spanish, then Chris's voice.

"Yeah, well next time read the signals. No means no, in any language."

Kirk's up on his feet and out of the barn in seconds. Just in time to hear the door slam and see Salvador thump down the porch steps, something dripping from his hair. He storms off into the darkness. The door opens again.

"Chris - what was that? Are you okay?"

She's standing silhouetted, an empty glass in her hand. Kirk's just worked out why Salvador looked so...damp on departure. He grins and she manages a passable imitation of a smile.

"I'm fine - but I think I may have offended our host. He was being a little too welcoming, if you know what I mean." Her eyes narrow. "Anyway, good thing I wasn't relying on you to defend my honour. Where the hell have you been?"

"Failing to communicate." He suddenly realises how hungry he is. "So before you sent Salvador packing, did you manage to track down any food?"

-oOo-

They're sitting on the back step, an empty plate of crumbs and chorizo rind between them. Kirk upends the bottle and lets the last few drops run into her glass. She thinks she's probably had enough.

The heat of the day is finally dissipating. The sky is so clear they could be looking through an _Enterprise _viewport. But she's not looking at the stars. She's looking at the man beside her. Gazing up at the night sky, he's transfixed. It's like watching someone going through a religious experience

"Do you miss it, Chris?" His voice is soft, almost a whisper. She doesn't have to ask what he means.

Does she miss it? Being stuck in sickbay while everyone else beamed down for planet side adventures. Miss McCoy's snide remarks about her ridiculous crush on the universe's most unavailable man? Miss the chaos of a starship battle, the injuries, the deaths?

Yes, she's missed it. She must do. Why else was she going back? But she doesn't say any of that.

"Sometimes."

"Me too."

Two words. She suspects she's just heard the understatement of the century.

He belongs up there with the stars, belongs at the helm of a ship. Maybe that's why he suddenly seems vulnerable - he's out of his natural habitat. And there's something else. A sadness she can't quite define.

He leans back against the step. She sees him wince slightly and pull away. His shoulders.

Immediately she's cross with herself. Fine doctor she is. She hasn't checked that burn since they got here. And the anaesthetic spray must have worn off hours ago.

"Jim, let me have a look at that."

He waves her away but she ignores him, moves him forward and gently lifts his shirt. She can't help a slight gasp. His shoulders are blistered an angry red. She retrieves her med kit from where she'd dumped it by the door. Makes up a hypospray shot of anti-bacterial enzymes and pain meds.

He's still looking up at the sky. He seems oblivious as she gives him the shot, then rummages around for analgesic spray and some dermaline gel. She'll need to cut away more of his t-shirt.

He hardly reacts as she works on him although it must hurt like hell. But now he's looking at her instead of the sky. Seems thoughtful. "Do you like being a doctor, Chris?"

"I love it," she says simply. "But I've got a lot still to learn."

She'd learned with the best. But McCoy would never have left his friend untreated and in pain.

As she cuts away the fabric she's suddenly very aware of the warm skin under her fingers, the hard muscles across his back. She's treated this man a hundred times. But this is the first time she's really seen him.

He turn his head and his gaze locks with hers. "You're a good doctor, Chris. Even when you were a nurse you were a good doctor." He reaches up, smiles that smile. "Healing hands." He rests his fingertips on her wrists.

She lifts both hands as if she's the one who's been burned, her mouth suddenly dry. Has to remind herself this is her former CO speaking. She shouldn't take this personally.

There was a reason James T. Kirk inspired such loyalty. It's a knack he has. He made every crewmember on the _Enterprise _feel special. Made a point of knowing not just their names but their past, not just their rank and role but their hopes, their fears. He built on their strengths, tackled their weaknesses. He wasn't their friend - he was more important than that. He was their commanding officer and they knew he cared. She knows it isn't standard practice among starship captains. Given the casualty rate, most found it easier to keep the crew anonymised.

She decides to finish up with a layer of gel to keep the wound clean until they can get to the hospital.

The hospital. Her mom. Both seem further away than ever. She's starting to think they'll never get there. As she packs away the med kit there's a lump in her throat. She's swaying with tiredness and the effects of Salvador's homemade wine. He sees it immediately, is on his feet and by her side.

"Whoa, doctor. Steady there. You need to lie down - sleep."

He's right, but she doesn't fancy finding a bed in the house. Doesn't like to think about the state of Salvador's mattresses, let alone his bedding.

He seems to read her mind. "Do you think you could get comfortable in the barn? It's warm enough, and there's plenty of hay and horse blankets."

She nods, lets him lead her inside and within moments she's snuggled down in a sweet smelling heap. He kneels beside her adjusting the covers. "I'm sorry, Chris."

Sorry, why's he sorry?

"I promised you I'd get you to your mom." His voice is grim, determined. "We will get there. I'll find a way." His head is very close to hers, his hand brushing the hair from her forehead. "That's a promise."

She believes him. And then he's leaning in, "Sleep well, Chris." His lips brush against her cheek, but she turns, finds his mouth and for the briefest of seconds their lips meet. So warm, so alive - she's stunned by the jolt of connection. Then he pulls away, his eyes dark. Runs a finger across her cheek and he's gone.

What just happened? She's too tired to analyse it. It's so long since she slept... The darkness creeps in and claims her, drags her down and gently smothers all thought.

-oOo-


	3. Chapter 3

From across the barn he watches her. She's so deeply asleep she looks unconscious. Her face looks different - he's not sure he's ever seen her this relaxed. Chris Chapel doesn't do relaxed - she's too efficient, too spiky, too quick witted for relaxed.

He watches her and he's jealous of her sleep - would love to join her, pull the covers up round them both, and hold her close and warm. Not to wake her, not to touch, caress, feel her respond. He just wants to sense her beside him, to match her breathing, to drift with her into undemanding sleep. But he doesn't move.

He's thinking. He made a promise. Jim Kirk keeps his promises. He's stubborn that way. Stubborn in lots of ways.

It's one of his less attractive qualities - according to Lori anyway. Jim Kirk doesn't give up, even when it's obviously hopeless. Outnumbered, outgunned, out-manoeuvred by aliens with brains the size of planets - he's been there, done that, got the internal and external scars to show for it.

He doesn't believe in the no-win scenario. It's a sort of atheism and it's got him into all sorts of trouble.

He's found it doesn't work in arguments for example. Arguments about the future, about where you're heading as a couple, about who wants what and where. About feeling useless, being in the wrong place, making the wrong choices.

It's not that he won't admit he was wrong. That's easy. He's always admitting he was wrong. But he won't believe he can't fix it. There's always a solution in the Jim Kirk universe. There's always an escape route, a way to rescue the situation, a way out.

For the umpteenth time he looks down at the communicators, the gleam of exposed circuits, the tangle of wire. He's just had the germ of an idea. He's been going about this all wrong.

-oOo-

When she wakes she has no idea where she is. The world makes no sense. She's been dreaming. Of fire and horses, wine and electricity. She aches and it's so deep, so much part of her, she can't tell if it's physical or simply an extension of the familiar emotional vacuum. There was something... someone. She raises her fingers, touches her lips. Remembers.

Jim.

He's standing looking at her. She can see his outline framed in the barn doorway. A dark shape. She shifts, lifts her arm above the covers, reaches for him. Smiles as she sees the shadow move towards her.

Her body realises before her sleep deadened brain can compute. She pulls away. The movement is wrong, the scent is wrong. Not Jim.

She wants to shout, but her throat won't open, her vocal chords won't produce sound.

Then his hand is over her mouth. She tries to bite but his skin is hard, calloused. She's gagging. The smell from his skin is as foul as his breath. He smells of wine - the wine she threw at him in a different world.

He says nothing. Not even a grunt. His eyes say it for him. She knows what he wants.

His other hand is in her hair, pulling her head back so hard her scalp screams in pain. She tries to raise her knee, the oldest female move in the book, but he's ready for her. He wrenches her leg to one side - the pain is intense. She hears a high pitched muffled sound - realises it's her. His weight pins her down. That's when she sees the knife.

Her mind is suddenly clear. Sharp. She knows exactly what's happening. But it doesn't help. She needs a muscle memory, an instinct she doesn't have.

She missed out on those Academy self-defence classes first time round and skipped them when she had the chance to re-take. She was medical - a healer not a soldier. She wore blue, she wore white - never red, never carried a phaser. Why would she need to defend herself? Felt safe surrounded by all that Starfleet muscle. Now she's never felt more alone. Or more furious.

Then the weight is gone, a release of pressure, her mouth suddenly free to gasp the air she wasn't aware she needed.

It's only when she opens them to empty space that she realises she'd closed her eyes. For a moment she can't focus. Then turning her head she makes out two shapes scuffling in the doorway, bodies outlined by starlight.

Jim... and Salvador.

Her attacker charges forward. Jim steps nimbly out of the way and lets him run into the door frame.

It's not an equal fight. A starship captain and a farmer. And not just any starship captain - Kirk's reputation for hands-on conflict resolution is legendary and he's more than earned it. Usually this is where she'd just sit back and enjoy the show.

But it's dark. And Kirk doesn't know about the knife.

She manages to get to her feet. Finds herself limping. Her hip hurts like hell.

Salvador lunges. Kirk ducks, steps in, lets his opponent's weight carry him over his shoulder. The Spaniard rolls in the dust, grunts back to his feet and lunges again. This time he's met by an upper cut worthy of the Starfleet video training manual. He yelps in pain, grabs his nose. Flails forward. The second punch into his gut sends him down on his back.

Kirk pauses.

She edges closer. Knows what he's thinking. He doesn't want to overdo it - doesn't want to seriously hurt the man, just drive him off.

He leans over the groaning shape on the ground, offers his hand. But his opponent gets a burst of energy, kicks out hard. It's enough to make Kirk stumble backwards.

Salvador's up on his feet then, spraying blood and bellowing. She sees the blade flash, shouts a warning, but he's seen it too, leaps back, pulling his torso in and away. The knife misses him by inches.

-oOo-

He's getting too old for this. Can't remember the last time he practised hand to hand combat - the moves are rusty.

And the adrenaline surge is ebbing. His hand hurts where it met Salvador's nose. That throw scraped off blistered skin - his shoulders are on fire. And now the brute has a knife. And apparently murderous intent.

He's rethinking his strategy. Circles into the shadows. Risks a quick glance around for a weapon to even the odds, but the walls and floor are bare. Somewhere there's that tool kit but he daren't take his eyes off his opponent for long enough to look for it.

He carries on circling. Salvador's breathing heavily, blood still streaming from his nose. Every few seconds he makes small thrusting movements with the knife. What he lacks in skill he makes up for in determination. The man has a one track mind. He hopes Chris has taken the opportunity to put some distance between them, that she's far away and safe.

Then Salvador attacks again, the knife thrusting forward and up. Kirk sees the move a split second ahead - spots the signal in his eyes. He spins sideways and chops down intending to break the knife grip but swipes empty air.

For a moment he's knocked off balance. Salvador grabs his opportunity and swings his arm heavily into Kirk's midriff, then down onto his raw shoulders. Gasping, he finds himself on his knees - catches sight of the blade gleaming and descending.

Raising his hands, he rolls forward and away. Just in time because, with a grunt, Salvador topples forward trapping Kirk's leg beneath his torso. He lies still - a dead weight.

Kirk stares down at the prone body, uncomprehending. What just happened? Then he looks up to see Chapel standing over them both. She's wearing a triumphant expression and holding a large lug wrench in both hands.

-oOo-

"Did I kill him?" The question is odd coming from a doctor - a physician who did harm. Her voice is strangely flat. She doesn't seem to care one way or the other.

Kirk rolls the body off his leg. Leans over, his fingers on the pulse points on Salvador's neck. There's a bump, but on the thickest part of his skull, and no blood. He's still breathing, heartbeat strong.

"No. He's just unconscious. He'll have quite a headache when he wakes up."

He raises his head to look at her. She meets his eyes for a second then her gaze drifts down to the man at her feet. She drops the wrench and turns away, hiding her face.

He's up by her side, gently holding her shoulders and pulling her to him. She resists - pushes him away with trembling hands.

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"I don't think so."

She sags then - buries her head in his shoulders. He can feel her shaking.

"Chris, it's all right."

Her voice is muffled. He can't hear what she's saying. "What, Chris? What is it?"

She pulls her head up, stares at him. "I thought he was going to..." She doesn't finish the sentence. For a moment she looks so vulnerable he's overcome by a sudden wave of tenderness.

He can't help it. He bends his head and kisses her. Intends it to be gentle reassurance. But she kisses him back hungrily and it turns into something else. Her lips are so warm, so welcoming. When they part under his it feels the most natural thing in the world, like coming home. He pulls her closer, feels her pressing along the length of him. She fits, feels so...right. It reminds him of earlier, in the field, after the explosion.

She seems to feel it too. Presses back. Pushes her thigh against him. His pulse is hammering in his ears. He knows she can tell he's aroused.

He groans, deep in his throat. "Chris."

The kiss deepens. He wants her. He's aware it's primitive. Prehistoric even. He's fought for her - the alpha male. She's chosen him and he wants to protect her, possess her. Her hands are in his hair. She's making small noises, running her tongue over his. She feels unbelievably good. Oh god.

Still kissing, he pushes her up against the barn door, runs his hands down her sides, over her curves, feels her respond. She's pulling at his clothes, her hands hot on his skin. He can't remember the last time he felt like this. It was never like this with Lori. He never felt this need, this connection, even in the first flush of romance.

Lori.

What the hell is he doing?

He stops. Pulls his lips away from her mouth. Leans his forehead against hers, breathing in short gasps.

She brings her hands up to his face, looks puzzled. When she moves to kiss him again he catches her hands in his. Takes a small step back.

"Chris, no." He's fighting to regain control. It's not easy.

"Jim, what is it?" The doctor is back. "Are you hurt? I'm sorry. I should have..."

He gives a short laugh.

"No, I'm fine." Although in truth his back is stinging like hell.

She's trying to look, peer over at his shoulder, but he stops her. "It's not that, Chris."

He brings her wrists down by her sides. Holds her away. It feels wrong to break contact, but he can't do this. He owes her. Owes himself.

He wants to explain but his words are tangled. "I shouldn't be... I can't... " He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, steadies himself. "There's something you don't know. Something you _should_ know." His eyes open - he just needs to say it. "I'm married."

"Married?" She pulls her wrists away from his hands. It's her turn to step back. "To who?"

"To Lori. Lori Ciani. Remember? That was who I came to Spain with."

"Admiral Ciani. Yes, I remember." There's an edge to her voice. Vulnerable Chris has gone. Spiky Chris is back. This time he doesn't like it. "So you're married. How's that working out for you, Jim?"

This isn't a conversation he feels like having right now. He decides to keep to the facts - keep it short. "We married last year, a term marriage. This holiday... we were supposed to be discussing whether to renew." He gives a twisted smile. "Didn't quite get that far."

"I see." She's not looking at him. They're back to the beginning, back to the train station when she didn't want to see him.

Frustrated he leans forward. Grabs her shoulders and tries to move into her line of vision, look her in the eye. "Chris, I'm sorry. Things aren't right with Lori. But it's...complicated. I made a commitment..."

For a moment she meets his eyes, raises her eyebrows, and he can see what she's thinking. He knows his reputation. Even though the reality always lagged behind the rumours.

But that was then. He'd got tired of the ephemeral. The superficial shore leave romances.

Wanted to see if he could find something more, even with the post-Edith walls protecting him. Others seemed to find long term happiness, why not him?

He'd had just a glimpse of that alternate universe on Amerind, with Miramanee. And that wasn't him, not really. Those months are still a blur, although it all came sharply into focus at the end. More scar tissue. But he does remember the glow. Feeling happy for the first time...

Once he was back on earth, behind a desk, he'd promised himself it could be different, _he_ could be different. It hadn't taken long to realise the career decision was a disaster. But at least he could turn his love life around. Find the right woman, grow close, even grow old together.

Deep down he suspects that's not going to happen - at least with Lori. There was a reason she'd insisted on a term marriage. But it's unresolved. This isn't how he wants to resolve it. This isn't why he came to Spain. He tries again to explain.

"Chris, I wasn't expecting this...we've never been..."

"...friends? Attracted to each other?" Her laugh is hard, bitter. "No, Jim, we never have been. I'm not exactly your type, am I?"

"And what 'type' is that, exactly?" _Dammit, here we go again. Does every woman in the galaxy get sent a set of Jim Kirk briefing notes?_

"Oh, I don't know. Blonde, curvy, undemanding. Happy to hang on your every word, take your side in whatever the current crisis is - then take you to bed." She's taken another step back - a shutter's come down. "You don't want a real woman, Jim. You were always married to your ship, to the job. A real woman would be a challenge too far."

"Is that what you really think, Chris? Is that what you think I want?" His voice sounds harder than he'd intended. But he's disappointed - in her, in himself. He's heard this once too often.

For a moment he thinks he sees a flash of regret. She hesitates, opens her mouth to reply but she's interrupted. By a beeping noise. A beeping noise that sounds remarkably like...

Her face changes. "Jim, is that...?"

"...the comms unit. Yes."

He races into the barn. She's slower behind him. Limping.

It's two comms units actually - rigged together and transmitting a homing signal. He can't believe his ham fisted attempt has worked. It seemed a long shot, but once he'd remembered the locator chip, it hadn't been hard to set it to transmit rather than receive.

The chip is linked to his ID - the equivalent of shouting his name out on the network. He'd been relying on being reported missing, on Nogura's fury at his Chief of Ops disappearing in the middle of what appears to be an escalating crisis.

And fury's what he hears when he kneels and switches to a two way signal.

"Kirk here."

A clear voice cuts through the static. "Jim? Jim is that you? Where the hell have you been? And where the hell are you now?"

It's not Nogura.

"Hello, Lori." He can't resist. "Have you missed me?"

-oOo-

"Admiral! Admiral Kirk. Are you all right, sir?"

It's hard to see who's shouting across the dying engine noise. The dust from the shuttle landing is still swirling and the speaker is silhouetted against the door.

Kirk moves forward into the circle of light spilling into the paddock.

"Here, Lieutenant. We're fine."

She thinks that may be overstating it. She doesn't feel fine. Far from it. Her hip hurts. And that's not the only pain she's feeling.

Kirk's made it to the shuttle steps - greets the young man who seems to be leading this rescue party. And who seems to be somewhat starstruck by his passenger. He salutes.

"We came as soon as we could, sir. Shuttles are in short supply."

"As you were, Lieutenant. There's an injured man over there. By the barn. He's..." He hesitates, looks back at her. She gives a slight shake of her head. She can't face telling that story, not to the police, not to anyone. He nods back. "...He's the owner of this place. Head injury but he's conscious."

Conscious and furious, she thinks. You don't have to understand Spanish to get the gist of the swearing. They'd tied his hands when it became obvious he was ready for another go.

"Have you got a medic on board?"

"Yes, sir. Two."

He looks at her limping towards the shuttle. "Doctor Chapel needs medical attention too."

After that everything seems to happen really fast.

The shuttle crew decides to leave one medic behind with Salvador and call in a local medical transport. The other medic, a young blonde nurse, gives her a brisk examination, pronounces a sprain and administers a blissful hypospray of pain meds and anti-inflammatories. She then moves on to treat Kirk's shoulders - which seems to take a lot more time and be far less brisk. He doesn't appear to notice. Too busy trying to get up to speed with the crew.

"So just how bad is it, Lieutenant?"

"We have orders to bring you back to San Francisco immediately, Admiral. You'll be briefed on the way."

Kirk looks across the shuttle cabin at her as she straps herself in near the pilot.

"Belay that order, Lieutenant. We'll need to make a stop on the way."

"But, Admiral..."

Kirk gives him a look. "I said we need to make a stop, Lieutenant." Even out of uniform there's a steeliness. It would take a braver man than this to argue. The young man swallows.

"Aye, aye, sir."

She gives Kirk a small smile. Can't believe she's finally going to complete her journey. All the worry about her mom comes flooding back. She leans across to the woman piloting the shuttle to give her the hospital details. "I'd be grateful if we could place a call - I was supposed to be arriving yesterday. My mother will be worried."

The pilot turns to her. "She's not the only one. You've been reported missing by Starfleet too, you know."

She has? She'd left messages. And when she'd left San Francisco there was no urgency about the start date for her new assignment.

She looks across at Kirk who's pulled up a vid screen. As they take off he's already talking to Starfleet Command. And guess who's on the other end of the link? She doesn't sound happy.

"Jim, you just disappeared. Where's your sense of duty? Your sense of responsibility?"

"Lori, can we keep to the facts? This was a localised software glitch when I left Bilbao. Now you're telling me there's some sort of interference affecting networks across the planet. And the source is light years away. How is that possible?"

"Jim, we don't know. It's intermittent. But it's getting worse. We're struggling to keep even the emergency channels open. Civilian transport is gridlocked. I only just made it back to headquarters."

Kirk looks across at her. "Chris, you need to find out what's going on in Oviedo. You may get stranded again." She nods.

Lori sounds intrigued - and not in a good way. "So who's that with you, Jim?"

"Chris Chapel...Doctor Christine Chapel."

Lori's voice is silky smooth. "Ah, the elusive Doctor Chapel. Didn't she used to serve with you? Decker should have guessed you were together. He's issued an all points bulletin looking for her."

"Decker? Captain Decker?" He's confused. She gets a sinking feeling she knows what's about to happen. And there's nothing she can do to stop it.

"Yes, Jim. Captain Will Decker of the newly refitted _Enterprise_. She's due to report for duty as Chief Medical Officer. Over-due in fact. Didn't she mention it?"

His face is grim. "Must have slipped her mind."

And there it is. That look. It's only for a second before he turns away, covers it up, carries on talking. But it was there.

He's got no right to be upset. Yet somehow she knew he would be. No right to feel betrayed. So why does she feel guilty?

Because she's going back. Back to _his_ ship. It will always be his ship - no matter who's in command. And he's going back to his desk. To a job he obviously hates. What are they thinking at Starfleet? To her it's blindingly obvious.

There's a chime from the console. The pilot exchanges a few words then leans over and offers her a headset.

"Is it the hospital?"

"No, it's your mom. She sounds feisty!"

-oOo-

He doesn't want to look at her. He'd trusted her - opened up to her. And she'd never even mentioned it, not a hint. He knows he's being unreasonable, unfair even. But that voice is back. The voice of self-pity, whispering poison in his ear.

_Everyone leaves sooner or later - everyone leaves him in the end._

And to leave him for the _Enterprise. _That's rubbing salt in an open wound.

Of course, she's not really leaving him. How can she leave him when they were never really together?

He'd told her that. He'd pushed her away. Because of Lori.

Lori who's now taking it as read that they won't be renewing - telling him she's moved out, discussing who owns what, over a vid screen. Classy.

He interrupts.

"Lori, we're clogging up a Starfleet emergency channel. Do you really think this is the time or the place?"

She has the grace to look shamefaced. "No, well...okay. We'll catch up later." She looks over her shoulder. "Nogura wants a word."

At the sight of his old friend Kirk can't help but smile.

"Hello, Heihachiro - I gather things are getting pretty hairy."

Nogura's not smiling. "Jim, what's your ETA?"

He looks across at the pilot who holds up three fingers.

"About three hours. Think we've got network problems." He's hedging - doesn't want to mention the unscheduled stopover.

"Get here sooner. We'll route you straight through." He runs his hand through his hair. Nogura doesn't usually look this stressed. "We've just heard from Epsilon IX. I think we've found the source of this interference."

Kirk thinks. "Epsilon IX? That's a listening post, isn't it? All the way out by the neutral zone. Have the Klingons been playing up again?"

"No. In fact we think they just lost three battle cruisers."

Kirk sits up. "What? Are they at war? Are we?"

"No. At least not with each other." Offscreen an aide thrusts a padd into his hand. Nogura looks down, nods, and hands it back.

"Jim, there's some sort of enormous cloud out there. We've never seen anything like it. It's not responding to our signals. It's incredibly powerful, it's destroying everything that gets in its path, and Jim..."

"Yes..."

"It's on a direct heading for Earth."

END

_And we all know what happens next... _

_I've stopped here because it feels like once Kirk's shuttle lands in ST: TMP that takes over as the end of this story._

_But is it the end of __their__ story? I know from the traffic stats that loads of you are reading but I'm not getting a huge amount of feedback (that's not intended to sound like a whinge – I'm as guilty as anyone else of reading without reviewing.) _

_So, if you can, I'm asking for a four word review. Or rather a four __**number **__review. Marks out of ten in these categories:_

_Did you like the story? _

_Did you think the pairing worked? _

_Is it possible to write/read a fight scene and see it as you would in a TOS episode?_

_Should I write a follow-up?_

_If I get a lot of high scores in first and final categories I'll do my best to comply… And of course if you feel like writing anything more I'd be delighted. Have really enjoyed myself. Thank you to all you wonderful people for reading._


End file.
